


Better than I know myself

by Abi_snail



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Boondock Saints - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25371868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi_snail/pseuds/Abi_snail
Summary: Just needed some Connor and Murphy after watching the boondock saints again. I'm not even sorry
Relationships: Connor MacManus/Murphy MacManus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Better than I know myself

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to squish my writers block! Hope you enjoy! Remember to comment!

Murphy's name is heavy on his tongue and he screams it until it feels like he's swallowed glass. His name tastes different here, not breathed quietly while checking on him, not groaned out when the slightly younger (two whole minutes between the pair) of the two says something incredibly stupid that still never fails to make Connor laugh. It tastes bitter and tainted as it echo's back around him mockingly.

He knows Murphy's strength as well as his own, knows he'll fight like Hell, but still, knowing he's gone and away from him sends something cold and sharp down his spine and he fights harder for it. He doesn't cry, he doesn't let the panic win over logic though it's harder than he'd ever admit. He bites his tongue and throws fists around like grenades and kicks and screams and screams.

It's primal, the need to get to him, to see him, hear and feel, to be sure that he really did get out in one piece...or at least in pieces Connor was capable of stitching back together. He imagines nothing but his eyes and it's enough to keep him moving forward.

A sick thud sends his heart up into his throat and he didn't think he was capable of moving any faster but he does. He's not a weak man, far from it, but Murphy always was and always would be that spot, that soft kill spot right beneath his ribs that sat heavy and warm since the moment of their conception.

It aches there to the point of breathlessness when he imagines a life without him, a life without the other part that makes him complete. He can't go there, his eyes already blanking and lungs gasping wildly around the sensation of loss and pain and bitter cold blackness like the sea has crept in and drowned him while he stood on completely dry land.

It takes him no time to find Murphy and get his hands on skin he knows as well as his own, searching for breath and a steady beat in his chest and he almost collapses when he finds both.

Murphy only cracks his eyes to blink up at Connor and he smirks, lips still bleeding and swollen. He smirks in the way only Murphy can. Cocky and broken all at once.

Connor wants to hit him, wants to remind him that it hurts, that knowing one day one of them may be stolen and the other will be left in shards of glass on the floor. He wants to yell and fight until Murphy understands, until it hurts every nerve in him just as badly as it does to Connor.

Instead he hoists him up to his feet, throws Murphy's arms around his neck and locks a strong arm around his waist and somehow shuffles them home, not for the first time. Murphy is no help, hardly moves his feet at all, just leaning all his weight into Connor instead but he can't bring himself to care.

He's warm and he can feel his ribs moving as he breathes, he's there.

Connor strips him quickly and shoves him harder than he really needs to under the spray of hot water and watches the blood slip over lean muscles and down the drain. Murphy cocks his head, blinking away fat water droplets from his long lashes and eyes that look far too innocent for the kind of man his brother really is.

He looks away from the invitation...the challenge... and leaves the room. The rage is still boiling just under the surface, the raw fear still a little too real and he can't be sure he can trust his own hands.

He cleans himself up quickly with a washcloth, sloppy work but he doesn't care. He hurts in more ways than he wants to think about. He keeps his ears locked on the sound of Murphy washing himself up in the bathroom, and it just barely keeps him from busting out of his skin.

He wants to lay down, he wants to run, he can't settle himself and he wants to puke.

He can't keep his eyes from flying to the bathroom door when it opens. He may be pissed but he'll never be able to look his fill of wet skin still pink from the heat of the water, little drops still dripping from his hair and slipping beneath the towel just barley holding onto slim hips.

Connor is still perched on the very edge of the bed, elbows pressing bruises into his knees and he wants to jump up, to lock himself in the bathroom until it all stops, until the echoing of his own voice screaming for his brother silences, until his heart beats normally again.

And Murphy smirks again, because he's Murphy and even in pain his a piece of shit and Connor feels his fingernails dig into the meat of his palm as he balls it up.

"You look like shit. Go shower." 

His voice sounds awful and Connor notices for the first time the red mark along Murphy's throat and he knows better than anyone that he's been choked by big rough hands.

He's not sure when he gets right into Murphy's space, but there he is, eye to eye with an unwavering asshole.

He grabs his hair and jerks his head back to fully inspect the new marks left on skin he's known his whole existence. Every scar Connor knows the story of, has memorized the way it feels and he could map them and point them out perfectly even if he was blind.

Murphy, for once in his fucking life, is silent. Connor knows he feels it, knows better than to push right now. He can probably feel the need in the way Connor's fingers shake against his skull, in the way his breath hitches every so often.

Murphy pulls against the hold just enough to make eye contact. Connor wants to look, wants to meet him there but he still can't bring himself to move too afraid that if he does it all breaks and he'll be alone.

Murphy grabs his arms hard, squeezing crescent marks into skin, the sting grounding him enough to meet his eyes.

"I'm fine."

Connor knows this of course, he's not stupid, but it eases back some of the ache, but relights the anger.

He shoves Murphy back and he stumbles but he's too stubborn to fall. He's ready for a fight if that's what Connor wants to give him. 

"You're such a fucking moron!" It's weak, he knows that but he can't come up with anything better right then.

"Fuck you." Murphy shoots back.

It's even weaker and Connor feels at least somewhat vindicated. 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He takes a step forward but Murphy refuses to shrink back and Connor revels in it, knows that if Murphy backed down it would drive the panic forward again and he'd lose it.

"I can take care of myself!"

And he knows that too, he's been on the receiving end of Murphy's anger before and knows anyone who crosses him is likely not walking away but it doesn't help.

"Like fuck you can! Look at yourself!"

Murphy scoffs and moves just a fraction closer. "I had three on me, what about you? One? Fucking pathetic how long it took you to make it over there."

It's a low blow and it's meant to be. Murphy knows where to aim for the most damage, knows exactly how hard to hit pressure points and Connor feels his knees nearly buckle.

He chances a look into Murphy's eyes, needs to know if that held even a tiny bit of truth. But it's shallow, meant to make Connor react. Murphy knows, of course he does, he feels it the same as Connor, he'd never willingly let anything happen to his brother.

It does the trick though.

Before he knows it they are on the floor, his still clothed body pressing Murphy into the dirty floor. The blue of his eyes lost to the black, pupils blown. He tastes blood and realizes they smacked their faces together on the way down and he's not sure if the blood on his tongue is his own or Murphy's, but it's all the same in the end.

Murphy writhes, plants his feet and tries to gain some leverage but Connor is in no mood to let up even slightly, still running high. He knows some of the fight bled out of Murphy in the shower, knows he's tired and ready to call it a night, but he'll keep fighting until Connor can settle.

Connor hasn't moved and he can feel it when Murphy gets agitated.

"What the fuck are you going to do, huh?" He spits out, shoving up harder and nearly knocking Connor off of him.

He steadies himself and presses down, grabbing Murphy's wrists until he stops wiggling. He's not sure when the towel disappeared, but he's glad to have Murphy bare beneath him, writhing and panting. There is something powerful and heady in the way his fully clothed body looks against Murphy's bare one.

He sees Murphy about to open his mouth again and he presses forward, knows his jeans burn his bare skin and he bites a hard kiss into wounded lips. He tastes blood again and chases it with his tongue. Murphy lets him, opens willingly and digs his heels into the backs of Connor's legs, pulling and demanding.

He bites into Murphy's lips and greedily swallows the hiss and meets hips that rock up to meet his. He squeezes Murphy's wrists harder and he knows he's hurting him but that's what they need, tonight needs to hurt, to stick, to prove that they are whole and together.

He moves Murphy's wrists to one of his hands, knowing full well that he could easily break free if he wanted to. It's a testament to the fact that he needs it just as badly when he doesn't move a muscle, just lets Connor move him where he needs him.

His free hand fits easily over Murphy's neck, hiding the mark left by someone else in anger. He closes his fingers and squeezes just enough to make Murphy's eyelashes kiss the tops of his flushed cheeks.

He feels his throat move around the air against his palm before he cuts it off again and he bites his tongue to keep himself quiet when Murphy rocks up again, seeking what only Connor can give him.

When he loosens his grip again Murphy gasps his name and he wants to drag it out, wants to keep kicking and fighting but when the desperation in Murphy's voice hits his ears, he just can't. 

Murphy is his weak spot and he knows it.

He seals his mouth over Murphy's and pulls his lip between his teeth and licks inside, needing to taste him fully. He's pliant under him, legs wrapped around him like a vice and Connor wonders how he's going to move at all but he can't bring himself to break free of the hold around his hips.

Murphy finally pulls his wrists out of his hand and moves them up and under Connor's shirt, pushing it up until Connor can duck out of it. 

He feels Murphy's heart beating against his own chest, a feeling he's known since before he was born and he leans down to press and kiss there and he feels the fight calm a bit beneath his skin. Murphy rests one of his hands over Connor's heart and the sentiment is returned.

Murphy's hands sink lower and he's desperate as he claws at the button of his jeans, the only thing keeping them separated. If Connor wasn't so far gone he'd laugh and tease but he's just as needy as Murphy and he shoves them off to the tops of his thighs, he cant get further with Murphy's legs wrapped the way they are but it feeds the need and he shoves forward again making Murphy bare his throat.

It's like an offering and he claims it happily, sealing his lips over his throat and biting, hiding marks that aren't his.

He shoves his fingers into Murphy's mouth and there is no resistance, just willing heat and he knows he could lose himself with nothing but that image, plump bruised lips wrapped so willingly around his fingers, and he lays his head on Murphy's shoulder, breathing deeply for a moment.

He yanks his fingers from Murphy's lips and slips them lower until he's wrapped around him from the inside out. He doesn't want to hurt him but he's not sure he can do anything else in that moment. 

Murphy rocks down, crying out in pain and pleasure and Connor drinks his fill of the face below him, the color of his cheeks, the way his eyes flutter, the way his lips form around the shape of his name.

Murphy cracks his eyes and smirks. "The fuck you staring at?"

He drives his fingers harder, crooking them up just right. "Shut the fuck up, Murph."

He watches him try to fire back but he can't, instead he surges up and crashes his lips hard against Connor's and he's more than happy to oblige.

He feels it when Murphy has had enough and wants everything Connor has to offer. He never has to say anything, Connor reads him like his favorite book, remembers him like the prayers he spills from his lips daily. Murphy is ingrained in everything he does, sometimes he knows his thoughts before his brother even does.

He lines himself up and glances down into hooded blue eyes. "It's going to hurt."

"Good."

He feels the word slid down his spine like knowing fingers and he grips Murphy's hips, holding him steady as he sinks inside of him.

It's always right, it's always like coming home, the two of them connected in every possible way they can be.

He feels Murphy shaking but he keeps pulling him closer, despite the pain he needs more, needs to feel him entirely.

Connor feels the shivers as if they were his own but he can't stop his hips from snapping forward hard, making Murphy scream his name until his closes his mouth over his and swallows his pleas for more.

It was always so easy to lose himself in the way Murphy felt around him, the way he opened up and pulled and welcomed Connor. They were made for each other, no one else would ever fit the way they did.

He picked up his pace, no longer worried about the pain as Murphy arched to meet every thrust and dug his fingers into his hips to keep him moving. 

He leans down and sinkd his teeth into Murphy's collar bone, once again trying to hide evidence of anyone else on his skin.

"Fuck Connor!"

He always sounded so beautiful when he was completely wrecked. Connor selfishly wished he could always hear his voice like that but no one else deserved it. His desperation and vulnerability was for Connor only, only he had earned such a gift.

He let his mind go blank and moved on instinct, their bodies meeting and fitting perfectly. He pulled Murphy closer, pressed his lips to the bare skin of his neck and sank deeper into him, delighting in the way he couldn't quite catch his breath anymore. He felt Murphy dig his nails into his hips, a sign he was close.

Always so easy to read.

Connor spit into his hand quickly and wrapped it around Murphy's cock, jerking rough and quick. Murphy couldn't keep his hips still even if his life depended on it in that moment, too lost in the sensation.

That's what Connor loved the most, when he lost himself and just gave in to how good it felt to be filled and held down. It was the image that drove his hand whenever he was left alone to his own devices. 

His eyes were wide, animalistic and this time Connor smirked.

"Come on, Murph."

Murphy pulled his head down and bit hard into the side of his neck as he came between their bodies, he didn't let go until blood was drawn and Connor's own hips were erratic with his release.

They stayed there for a long moment, catching their breath, their hearts hammering against one another. Murphy would place small kisses randomly along Connors jaw and neck, always the more tactile of the two.

Not the Connor would ever complain. It was something so inherently _Murphy_ that he'd never reject or question it. It was accepted without question.

He felt Murphy go limp and he scoffed.

"Get up lazy arse, get in the bed."

"Fuck you Connor."

Another weak retort so Connor simply pulled him up and shoved him onto the bed. He took a shower quickly, even the small time and distance feeling like too much just yet, they needed to be together, at the very least Connor needed to be with Murphy, still needed his hands on him in some way.

The asshole was already mostly asleep peacefully when Connor made it back to the bed. He rolled his eyes and shoved his brothers body over until there was space for him. He flicked his ear for good measure, earning a sleepy curse and a name calling that he couldn't quite make out.

He stared at the ceiling for a long while, letting himself bleed the rest of the fear out. It had been close tonight, Murphy was more hurt than he should be but he was ok.  
He rolled onto his side, pulling Murphy against his chest and letting his hand rest over his heart, the steady beat he knew so well. It soothed him and he kissed the back of Murphy's shoulder before he closed his eyes. 

Connor may have held him tighter and closer that night, needing to assure himself that he hadn't failed, that he hadn't lost the most vital part of his life, kept his breathing and heart replaying over in his mind.

If Murphy woke in the night to Connor clinging and mumbling under his breath, shaking and terrified, only to be soothed by Murphy's lips softly against his own whispering softly that he was there, that he was safe....

Well that was for only them to know.


End file.
